Page 45 of Fixation

HARPER

S omeone’s behind me. Hovering in the doorway to my studio.

Goosebumps race over my skin.

There’s no telling how long Anderson has been standing there.

It couldn’t have been that long, given the fact that he wasn’t even supposed to be here.

He got called in for an emergency surgery in the middle of the night, and I watched him leave, his scrubs stretched over taut muscles.

I thought he would stay there, that he wouldn’t be back until after his morning shift.

That’s what anyone else would’ve done.

Anyone who isn’t my Anderson.

He has come home. He’s here, taking up all the air in the room. Filling it with his woodsy scent and dominant energy.

And he’s quiet. Hasn’t called my name. Hasn’t made a sound.

He’s waiting for me to make the first move. His prey.

The hair on the back of my neck stands on end as the temperature in the room drops. My breath catches in my throat.

His large T-shirt—the only clothing item I have on me except for my panties—isn’t keeping me warm.

Nothing can save me from him.

Who says I want to be saved?

I don’t.

Since the bicycle crashed into me, since we played our depraved doctor-patient game, I’ve been in heaven.

We haven’t had any mafia bosses hanging around our neighborhood that Anderson could tell. No detectives with their endless questions.

We’ve had love. And each other.

The man wouldn’t leave my side.

Whenever he’s home from work, Anderson hovers. Fusses. Makes sure I’m well fed, checks on my ankle, and carries me from room to room like I’m precious and breakable.

He takes an interest in my work. He rails me on every available surface. Calls me from the hospital for quick phone sex.

He’s insatiable, and so am I. I love being his good girl. His good patient.

Now I’m his prey.

Carefully, as if a predator is about to pounce, I put down my work tools. The solder wire and the flush cutter rest on my workbench.

Silence stretches, suffocating me while I wait.

Wait.

Wait.

He won’t say the word Red . I don’t get any relief from it. I’m nowhere near out of the woods.

And I live for it.

“Harper.” His voice is rugged. Soaked in lust. In danger.

My body is frozen in place.

His steps are silent as he crosses my studio. I feel him first, not hearing him approach until he’s already standing behind me.

Curling a hand around the nape of my neck, his teeth toy with the idea of biting my earlobe.

“Kitten. What’s this?” He gestures to my workbench.

Toward my scattered tools. The spread-out gemstones in black and crimson red.

The last piece of my summer collection.

I’m all done, basically. I’ll be sending it to Emersyn later today.

Though this isn’t really what he’s asking. About my progress.

His presence is hot on my back. A menacing shadow.

My nipples pull tight. I gulp around the lump in my throat.

The groan that rumbles in his chest makes my breath hitch. His mouth traces barely-there kisses on my cheek. My jaw. My neck.

“I asked, what’s this?”

Of course he’d choose my chasing hammer as a threat. He picks it up, holding it in front of my face. Letting me know I’ve been a brat.

I like it. Testing him.

I like that he cares so much that he’d punish me for this. For killing myself over work.

“Because it can’t be work.” He taps the hammer’s smooth, rounded face to my already hard nipple. “I instructed you to stay in bed for another two hours.”

My head tips back against his solid shoulder. His scrub top is warm and smells of him , not of blood and antiseptic. It isn’t the one he left with earlier. He’s changed to a clean one for me.

“It’s just a couple of hours,” I whine, knowing it upsets him. Knowing it gets his dick hard. “I’m a big girl. I can work if I want. And I need this.”

“Rest is what you need.” A tap to my other nipple. Harder.

I gasp. Then shriek as more come, grinding my hips on the chair.

“This”— more, more , and oh my God—“isn’t”—he doesn’t hold back anymore, and I can’t stop fucking the chair—“resting.”

“I’m not sorry.” I reach back for his hand, guiding it to my throat. Begging him to choke me. To hurt me.

He does it exceptionally well, and I’m dripping for it. My panties are a mess.

“That was the last piece from my new collection. I had to get it done.” I don’t thank him for it. I already did a few times. “My ankle is better. Everything’s fine and?—”

A feral growl kills the rest of my argument. The hammer clinks on the surface of my workbench.

I’m being scooped into Anderson’s arms.

“Brat.” His kiss is as feral as his growl, both of them commanding my attention. My life. Every last breath I have in me. “Going behind my back. You figured I’d be out for the rest of the day, didn’t you?”

What’s the use of lying? Nothing gets past him. My feelings. My needs. My stubbornness.

I lift my chin. A tiny show of strength. A flower daring the hurricane to pluck it off the ground.

“I did.”

Anderson makes a low sound in the back of his throat. We descend the steps, his eyes reminding me of the abyss.

Even the darkest gems in my collection aren’t as dark.

I did my best with what I had.

“My ass is still sore from last night.” I’m teasing him, begging him to go there.

“I know.”

That’s strange. He was too quick to agree.

“My pussy too,” I challenge, eyeing him from beneath my lashes.

“I know.”

He’s sparing me? Why? “You know?”

“Yes.”

Warm early morning light bathes my brownstone. The day is starting. Birds chirp outside the window.

And I’m being lowered to the couch.

Softly. Gently. Anderson sits at the other end of the couch, lifting my feet to his lap.

Each of his hands covers my ankles. No rubbing or stroking. No sliding his hands up.

No touching me where I need him the most. Where I’m aching for him.

I spread my legs, my feet moving along his lean thighs. I moan at the heated path his fingertips trace up my calves. My thighs.

“Please.” My heart beats fast in its cage.

Faster still when Anderson’s fingers bite into my thighs.

Yes .

He’s going to take me. Here, in my living room. Without drugs, without locking me up in his basement.

In a way, I miss that place. But this feels just as right, being punished in a somewhat safe environment.

Both sides of Anderson are intense and wonderful, and I need him.

“You’re asking me to hurt your pussy,” he deadpans. “You’re asking me to ruin what’s mine.”

With two fingers, he slides my panties to the side. He looks at my sex, his eyes cold and detached.

If I didn’t feel his cock throbbing beneath the heel of my foot, I’d think my body bored him. That I was just one of his many patients.

I’m not.

He’s getting off on my humiliation. The depravity of it makes my cheeks flush and my thighs tremble.

“Yes.” I shift on the couch, squirming just enough to fake discomfort.

“Brat.” His playful scolding turns hotter when he slides my panties to the side and rolls my clit between his deft fingers. “Such a slut for pain.” Three fingers are shoved deep inside me, filling me completely. I gasp as he knocks the air out of me. “A slut for my touch.”

“Yes. No.” I thrash my head back, breathing hard. As his thumb presses to my clit, I lose it. I grind my ass against the couch and arch my back. “Please.”

“Are you sorry now?” His cock jerks beneath me, thighs flexing while he finger-fucks me absentmindedly. “Or are you going to be bad and go against my orders next time too?”

He grabs my thigh, the fingers of his free hand burying into my flesh.

He’s holding back. I can feel it.

I’m wound up tight, on the edge of ecstasy.

I want more.

Anderson has the power to give it to me.

Maybe he just needs a little encouragement.

“Not.” Our eyes lock as I prepare to be the biggest brat he’s ever met. He looks murderous. Like he might devour me whole. “Sorry.”

Emptiness.

I’m left empty and desolate, watching helplessly as Anderson raises his fingers to his mouth and sucks.

“Why?” The question isn’t coherent. I’m gasping. Reaching out to him.

He flattens a hand on my sternum, pushing me back to the couch.

His face is a mask of indifference. “Do you think you’ve earned an orgasm, brat?”

“Anderson.” I’m squeezing my thighs, mindless with need. In a haze of lust. “I need…please.”

“Here’s the thing, kitten…”

I open my legs wider, hoping that he sees how wet I am. The evidence of my arousal always turns him on.

I don’t get very far before Anderson forces my legs back together.

“I would’ve fucked you hard. I planned on it, on my way from the hospital.

” Viciously, he ignores my frustrated tears.

He holds my feet together as if I’m not dying over here.

As if my entire body isn’t shaking. “I’d lick you first. Eat you out until you begged me to stop.

Only I wouldn’t. I’d take you to the shower and fuck you against the wall.

I’d be so hard, you’d be crying in pain.

And I wouldn’t stop. I’d kiss each one of your tears.

Would go deep, hitting your womb with every thrust.”

“Stop.” I’m sobbing, needing him to the point of pain.

Drugged, kidnapped, that’s nothing compared to this. This cruel, inhumane denial.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Your pussy would weep for me.” His brow furrows. “While I came inside you. While I put babies inside you.”

“But?”

A sliver of kindness flashes in his deranged eyes. He pulls me into his lap, moves me around until I straddle him and wipes the tears off my cheeks with his thumbs.

“You heard me before.” His cock pulses against my pussy, lips twitching in a smirk. “You were being a brat. I need to trust that be able to trust you. Need you to listen to me. Unconditionally.”

“I hate you.” My traitorous body surrenders, melting into Anderson. I hide my face in the crook of his neck. “I hate that I love you. You’re a fucking monster.”

Another pain slashes through me when Anderson grips my chin, yanking my face up until we’re eye to eye. “What did you just say?”

My nose scrunches. I am being a brat. “I hate you.”

“After that.”

“I still hate you.”

“Harper.” He blinks once, his expression unreadable. “This is your final warning. I’m not opposed to going through a week of edging you. Of denying you. A week where I’ll sedate you, and you’ll sleep while I get off. You’ll be sore, but you won’t remember any of it.”

Terror lodges in my throat while my skin buzzes with sick excitement. “I’ll say it. On one condition.”

I’m melting when he tilts his head, looking at me like a predator.

The need to take him out and come on his cock is palpable. Painful.

“Name your price.”

“I’ll say it, and you won’t deny me a single orgasm for a week, no matter what.”

It takes him a moment to consider that. “Okay. As long as this one doesn’t count.”

“Why?”

“Because.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. I’m sensitive everywhere, shuddering at his touch. “I get off on your pain, that’s why.”

That’s as far as my monster is willing to give me.

Truthfully, it isn’t a bad compromise. Maybe it’s not so terrible, letting Anderson take over. I don’t have to be the powerful decision-maker when he’s here.

“Deal.”

“Deal.” He cups my cheeks, the anticipation spilling out of him.

“I love you, Anderson. I. Love. You.”

A million heartbeats pass between us. His eyes are the most expressive they’ve ever been. His emotions are alive and vibrant.

“Again.” He leans in, kissing me.

I bite his lip, then tease him further by placing my hands on his neck and saying, “I hate that I love you.”

“Liar.” He kisses me over and over, his tongue insistent in my mouth. “Or, you know what?” More kissing. More fighting. “Don’t give a fuck. Hate it or don’t. You love me. And I love you too. God, I love you.”

“Fuck me.” I grind my hips on his lap. My attempt is a miserable one. I’m weak for him. Weak for this orgasm he won’t let me have. “Anderson.”

“When I come back from work.” Even as I huff in protest, I’m being placed on the couch. Anderson nods to himself, adjusting his erection that pushes against his scrubs. “Be a good girl, Harper. Be good. Or I’ll deal with you when I return.”

My heart pangs. Something about his voice, the way he looks at me.

There’s a new emotion there.

Pain.

He’s hurting. I don’t understand why. He doesn’t seem like he’s about to tell me.

I have no other choice but to obey.

“Okay,” I whisper, hiding the fact that I might not be as good as he hoped today.

I have plans. An interview to go to. And since it’s been forever since I dressed up, I miss my heels. Heels don’t go well with a recovering ankle.

My doctor would disapprove.

So I don’t tell him any of that.

He stares at me. Groans. Hauls me off the couch and strides up. I can tell where he’s taking me just from the tortured look on his face.

“You’re going to not fuck me in the shower?” I gape at him.

“Trust me.” His jaw tics as he stares ahead. “I hate the thought just the same, if not worse. But I’ve only got thirty minutes before I have to leave, and I’d rather spend them not fucking you in the shower than being there by myself.”

I laugh, unable to hold back.

Being loved by an obsessive psycho isn’t sweet. It’s chaos wrapped in intensity and devotion.

I can’t get enough of it.